Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice
by mswyrr
Summary: Daniel gets several things wrong, and a couple important things right. It isn't easy trying to be a nice guy.


"**Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice"**

Rating: T

Summery: Daniel gets several things wrong, and a couple important things right. It isn't easy trying to be a nice guy.

-

The next time Daniel wanted to run ideas by the _Mode_ girls, he didn't invite Betty. He gave her face-saving busy work and congratulated himself for being so thoughtful.

If he didn't invite her, he wouldn't have to ignore her ideas.

Sounds perfect, right?

It wasn't. Like the bagel-run excuse, it crashed and burned. When he told her to step out to her desk and--Organize his emails alphabetically? Lick envelops? Something--Betty pushed her glasses up _and_ tucked her hair behind her ear. Then she nodded and smiled, but with just the corners of her mouth.

She knew.

As the meeting went on, he glanced out through the glass wall between their desks. Each time he looked, Betty was relentlessly purposeful at the meaningless tasks he'd given her.

The braver and more determined she looked, the guiltier Daniel felt. He was getting used to that, but this time he didn't think he was wrong.

They needed to have a talk. But they couldn't do it now; the office's fishbowl design might be chic, but the large windows made it impossible to have a private a conversation during business hours. And he didn't want to make a habit of chatting with his assistant in the lady's restroom.

That was how rumors got started.  
-

He made a mental note and waited until later, when most of the staff had gone home, before calling her into his office.

"You wanted me?" Betty asked, poking her head around the door.

"Yeah," he said, motioning towards a red and white chair. "Have a seat, Betty."

She walked in, smoothed her knee-length polka dot skirt and sat, looking up attentively, pen in hand and notepad balanced on her lap.

Daniel tried not to squirm in his chair.

This was never easy. He wasn't a naturally considerate guy; if someone was unhappy, it was their problem. But Betty could make him feel like shit just by not smiling as bright.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, easing into the conversation.

He wondered if he'd be better at handling girl's tender emotions if he'd had a sister. Or female friends.

"Yep," she said, "All done for the day. Unless you have something more for me?"

"Uh, no."

Girlfriends were so much _easier_. He just had to buy them things, take them places, screw their brains out, and make sure they didn't run into each other at his apartment.

"Betty, did you read _Mode_ before you came to work here?"

She blinked, looking blindsided. "Sure," she said brightly. Then wilted a little. "I mean, my nephew loves fashion, and they had them at the dentist's office all the time."

Dentist's office. He ducked his head a little, trying not to smile. When he looked up, she was biting her lip nervously.

"It's okay if you weren't a fan, Betty. Not everybody likes the same things. We all have different tastes. I understand that," he leaned back in his chair. "That's why I didn't ask you into the meeting earlier. I know that you're bright, informed, creative. You have good ideas, and you do great work. But sometimes I need to know what the," he searched for the word, "_visceral_ reaction of _Mode_'s target audience is going to be. I need to run ideas by people like Amanda."

"Okay," she said. Surprisingly, she didn't look disappointed or rejected. He looked closer, trying to find any signs of distress. Nope, she was fine. She just looked like she wanted to go home and stop being talked at by her boss.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow."

It _was_ great. He had expected something else, something... emotional. He couldn't remember why now, except that seeing her cry in the restroom had left him scared she'd fall apart again, and he still wouldn't know what the hell to do. Except stand there like a loser who didn't even have enough clout to protect his quirky little assistant.

Daniel noticed that Betty had been talking while he was thinking.

"...then you wouldn't have to worry," she finished.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She repeated herself: "If you're going to make decisions based on the opinions you get, wouldn't it be better if they were more reliable?"

"What?"

"Reliable. From a verifiable source."

"Who?"

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. What kind of verifiable source?"

"A professional market research firm. They could set up focus groups. You could put any ideas you wanted before them, and get good, reliable information."

"Aren't they expensive? I can't explain a large new expenditure to my father..."

"That's the best part! When I looked into it, I discovered that the magazine has a marketing firm on retainer-- it's already part of the operating budget."

Sometimes when Daniel looked at Betty, he saw this naive, sweet, badly dressed girl in really stupid purple braces, and he felt responsible. Sometimes he even felt burdened. Then she did something brilliant, and he remembered: she was a sweet, naive girl who saved his ass. Frequently. And who was probably smarter than him. Maybe even tougher, too, though he would never admit that out loud.

He'd be drowning his sorrows in Brazil, running away from his father's disapproval, if it wasn't for her.

"And if we keep it quiet you won't have to worry about Wilhelmina influencing your test group," she said again, finishing her sales pitch.

He smiled. "All right. Sounds good. Can we get started tomorrow?"

"Sure," she said. "We'll have to make a list of areas we want them to focus on," she added. He could tell from her face that she knew she'd probably just signed on for another late night.

He gave her a break. "Okay. Why don't you walk out with me? We can go over it in the car. I'll have my driver take you home."

"Okay," she said. She smiled her full, bright smile. "Thanks."

-end-


End file.
